


Please Go Easy

by ravensarefree



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Criminal Alexander Hamilton, F/F, F/M, FBI, FBI Agent John Laurens, M/M, Multi, Not an idiot! Laf, Tailor! Herc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-10-22 00:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10686306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravensarefree/pseuds/ravensarefree
Summary: “Agent Laurens, are you there?”The voice of Maria Reynolds, Director of the F.B.I. rang through the phone.“Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”“There’s been another child-kidnapping case. Two vics, a brother and a sister, six and seven years old. Family lives in Queens, was visiting an aunt in Peekskill for a weekend when it happened.”“I’ll be right there”The F.B.I is not a forgiving place to work for. John Laurens knows this all too well. He's the best, and terrified of what that might entail.





	1. Alphabet City

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic on Ao3, so I'm apologizing in advance for any formatting errors. I don't know a thing about html.   
> I'll also add more tags as the story progresses, because right now, I have no idea where it's going.  
> Title from "New York City", by The Chainsmokers.

                      Federal Agent John Laurens was sitting in the office cafeteria, nursing a cup of tepid coffee before he went home when his phone rang. Without looking at the screen, he picked it up.  
“Agent Laurens, are you there?”  
The voice of Maria Reynolds, Director of the F.B.I. rang through the phone.  
“Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”  
“There’s been another child-kidnapping case. Two vics, a brother and a sister, six and seven years old. Family lives in Queens, was visiting an aunt in Peekskill for a weekend when it happened.”  
“I’ll be right there”

                   “Who is it this time?” John asked. Maria sighed. “Is it ever anyone else? Here are the photos from the crime scene, take a look.” Laurens reached for the Manila folder and opened it. Inside was a couple photos of the crime scene. A small, slightly shabby, suburban home, unremarkable except for the giant blue and yellow lion outline spray painted on the side of the house. “ El Leon again? You guys still haven’t caught him?” Maria looked disgruntled. “Laurens, we have absolutely nothing to go on except the graffiti a bunch of handwritten notes, and a stray accent mark. We don’t know a thing about this guy, for God’s sake. I am at my wit’s end here, and you are the best we’ve got, so find this person and lock them up!” She yelled the last part at him, then looked apologetic.  
“ I’m sorry, Laurens. Too much stress recently.”  
“Yeah”, He joked, “It must be hard to answer to the President.”  
“Well, I didn’t become Director of the F.B.I. by giving up when things get tough. We’ll find this guy, one way or another. So, Agent Laurens”, Maria said, back in Director mode, “Will you take the case?”  
Laurens smiled at her. “Have you ever known me not to?” She smiled back wanly at him. “Take the folder and look over it at home. Don’t forget to get a good night’s sleep. You’re going to need every ounce of rest you can get to deal with whoever’s doing this.

                 John was slumped in a chair in his apartment, looking at the contents of the paper strewn across the nearby desk. This guy really was good. Whoever was doing this managed to leave behind almost no trace of themselves there. If it weren’t for the graffiti and the notes, there’d be no way to find out who he was. And the notes were in a different universe from a usual kidnapper’s note. There was no ransoming, no mention of money at all. Every time, the note had a different format, but always literary. Book codes, sonnets, poems, references to obscure works. Never the same one twice. If that wasn’t strange enough, the notes always demanded that the child be placed into a foster home, or they would be killed. Most of the kids’ families were heartbroken, but they’d rather have their children alive and separated from them than dead. Another weird thing, the notes were all handwritten. Kind of strange for a person trying to keep their identity secret. In fact, handwritten notes had given them one of the only clues they had to go on. While given directions to a child who was hidden behind a church, El Leon had put an accent mark over the a in angel. The accent mark proved that the culprit had grown up in either a Spanish speaking household or a Spanish speaking country. That. along with the graffiti and heavily analyzed handwriting had lead to the conclusion of a Hispanic male. The guy popped up so often though, that it wasn’t long before they’d had to stop referring to him as “that one weird pedophile”. Someone in Comms had come up with the name El Leon and it had stuck.  
                Alright, clearly John wasn’t going to get anywhere by staring at some paper and reminiscing. Anyway, the MO was like the other 8 cases. Lower middle class or poor family goes somewhere other than where they normally live, and whatever kids live in the house are gone within a day of the family changing houses. He didn’t want to know what this guy’s motives were. There were all kinds of pedophilic sickos out there, he didn’t need to try and figure out the kidnapper’s mind to know he was one of them.  
Grabbing an old leather jacket, John wrestled his hair into a half-hearted ponytail. Taking his wallet, his phone and a Swiss Army Knife, just in case, he went out the door.  
Exiting his apartment, he chose to take the four flights of stairs down to the street, burning up some of the restless energy that had been gripping him since he started thinking of El Leon. Pushing the doors open, heart rate high, John started the walk to Schuyler’s, a hole-in-the-wall 24 hour coffeeshop. The baristas knew John well, since he often came in at 3 in the morning to get either whatever coffee would keep him awake long enough to finish whichever overdue report he’d forgotten about, or something sweet enough to calm him down when his mind started going into overdrive.  
Bustling through the door, he sees Peggy with her distinctive mane of curls at the counter, her back turned to him. Stepping through the door just as she turns around, John smiles. The youngest Schuyler sister was almost always cheerful and seemed to run on a combination of bad puns, mediocre Chinese food, and amazing coffee, which was probably why she had been picked to work the graveyard shift. She was a great person, though she was often overshadowed by her older sisters. Peggy was feisty and sweet, the kind of friend who would comfort you when your boyfriend dumped you and probably break also his wrist. She was also gorgeous, with huge, intelligent brown eyes, thick soft brown hair, and skin the color of cinnamon. If John was into females at all, he’d have already fallen for her.

                   “What is it today, John? A Defibrillator or a Sugar Skull?” She smirked at him.  
“Have you switched the names out again?” John asked. “You guys change the names of these things around so often I can’t keep them straight. What do you suggest?”

                   “A Defibrillator’s got enough caffeine to wake the dead, and a Sugar Skull’s got one cream, five sugars. Perfect if you want to die an early death from heart disease.”

                   “I’ll take a Sugar Skull. Pretty cool names, too.”

                   “All courtesy of Eliza.” Peggy said, as she busied herself making his drink.

                   “Ah, yes. Eliza. When do I get to meet this lovely sister of yours?”. John teased.

                   “When I can be sure that you won’t ending up drooling at her feet . It’s kinda nice to be the center of attention for once.” Peggy handed John a steaming coffee mug.

                   “How many times do I have to tell you, Peggy, I couldn’t get any gayer if Neil Patrick Harris and Ellen Degeneres simultaneously blessed me while wearing rainbow leotards and riding a glitter pooping unicorn”.

                   Peggy smirked. “There’s an interesting image. Enjoy your drink. I’ll be in the back, doing inventory and pretending not to hate it. Yell if you need me.”

                  Taking a seat in a corner booth meant for two, John surveys the coffeeshop. The store itself is tiny, and the interior is ringed by mint green booths. In middle of the store, cushions, armchairs and loveseats are strewn haphazardly, with a small clearing in from of the glass counter, where the baristas work. John is the only one in the store, Peggy having gone to the backroom. Pulling out his phone, he finds the photos he has of El Leon’s last riddle:

 _A ships that land on pleasure, sanity on an island,_  
_A city built on history, Unicorn and Lion_  
_Revolution and Racism run rampant in the streets,_  
_Gentrify, assimilate, lighten up the beats,_  
_Over 23 million, searching til’ one,_  
_Catches your eye, parchment floats by,_  
_The city hasn’t left it’s glory days_

                  John sets the phone down and buries his head into his arms. He should be taking a break. Staring at a screen when he's tired is just going to fry his brains.  
Just then, the bells attached to the doors tinkled. John looked up as they opened to find Hercules enter the area. “Hey, Herc”, he called out. Hercules turned to look at him. “John, what’re you doing here? It’s three in the morning.” John chuckled. “I could ask you the same question. I’m trying and failing to take my mind off this case.”  
Hercules slid into the seat across from him. “Oh, you’ve got something new? What is it?”  
                 “It’s that freakin’ kidnapper again, El Leon. He’s got another couple of kids, from Poughkeepsie this time. I’ve been looking over the riddle he left behind, but I can’t make heads or tails of it.”  
Hercules frowned.

               “Well, what’s it like this time? Is it a poem, book code, what?”John sighed and turned his phone towards Herc.

               “It’s a riddle. I think it’ll lead to a place when it’s figured out.”Herc read it over quickly.

               “Have you sent it to Laf yet? He’d probably be better at this than we are.”

               "Are you insulting my intellectual prowess, Mr. Mulligan? I’ll have you know I ranked second at the F.B.I academy, was first in the school back in Carolina-”

               “And won a Presidential Medal of Freedom, cured cancer in your bedroom with nothing but a rusty spoon, and is the reason the U.S. won the Space Race.” Herc cut him off. “All I’m saying is that Laf’s been to more places than either of us. He might know where this is referring to.”

                John scowled. “Fine. I’ll call him, but only if you buy me a cookie. And I still get it if he doesn’t pick up.” Hercules smiled. “He’s been jetlagged like crazy since he got back from France. He’ll be up.”  
              John hid a smile as he scrolled through his phone and clicked on the contact. It didn’t take long for Lafayette to respond. Herc looked at him, a smug smile on his face.

              “Bonjour, mes amis! How are you?” Despite himself, John laughed into the phone. “You know, I didn’t believe Herc when he said you’d be up late. Guess I underestimated the power of jet lag?”

              “I know you didn’t call me at 3 in the morning to talk about my sleeping habits. What do you want?”

              “Can you review something? It's for a case. I'm pretty sure that it leads to a location, but I’ve got no idea where.”

              “Sure. Now hang up.” Lafayette’s voice turned jokingly brusque. “You’re interrupting my Guy Fieri marathon.”

              “I’ll let you get back to watching a glorified hedgehog eat meat. Wait, you’re vegetarian!”

               “I find the man attractive, in an overtly American sort of way.” John could practically hear his friend’s smirk through the phone.

               “Um, gross. Hanging up now. Bye! Sending you the riddle now, call me if you think of anything.” John hung up. Herc stood up swinging on his jacket.

               “I’d actually better go too. I’ve got work in the morning.” Herc worked as a tailor, mending the suits and darning the socks of the cream of society. Along with his race, his job meant that people usually ignored him, meaning he always had gossip on high society members. It wasn’t an easy job, but he got paid well to keep all the secrets.

               “Remember, you still owe me a cookie” Herc just smiled.

               “I should probably leave too. I’m going to crash soon, and Peggy’s had to drag my sleeping body out of here enough times. See you soon?” John stood as well.

               “Yeah, man. Call if you need me.” And with that, Herc left the store.

                                                                                             

* * *

               New York was being kind to him. It was not a kind city. It was a city with money, dreams, and the streets, and none of these things were kind.  
The city was being kind to him tonight, though. The moon was out, and John could see the Manhattan skyline. It seemed too far away to be real. What was that quote?  
Everything looks perfect from far away.

              John came home and flopped on his couch. He was too exhausted for this. He’d always had a war in him, an instinct to please everyone, to help everyone like the good Southern boy he was supposed to be, and an instinct that told him to leave everything behind. Let the rest of the world handle the messes they created but were too busy to clean up.  
He just wanted, for once not to feel personally responsible for every death, every rape, every kidnapping in this godforsaken beautiful city.  
John laughed, head tipping back. The strained chuckle a testament to how strung out he really was. God, if his father could see him now.

                                                                                           

* * *

              Somewhere in a secure location, an evil genius was busy.

              It wasn’t an secure location; It was a 400 square foot apartment in the Bronx.

              He wasn’t really an evil genius; He was just tired of the world.

              So he did what he did best. He made his own rules.


	2. Schuyler's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for being absent so long. Here's the new chapter, but I have to warn you: It's a thousand words of filler and characters being idiots. Except Angelica, of course.

Alexander Hamilton did not think he was a criminal. In one way, he was right. He was a criminal as far as the law was concerned, but he was not a criminal as far as his victims were concerned. It was a bit of a depressing thought, but it sometimes seemed like his only lifeline at times. The irrefutable conviction of knowing that not everyone hated him.

Alex shook his head, as if to clear the thoughts from his brain. It was too early in the morning, especially on such a sleep-deprived one. He’d been up researching. Burr had used his contacts on Capitol Hill and somehow found out the name of the detective the F.B.I. had put on his case, and Alexander was doing his homework. John Laurens was fond of turtles, bought too much ramen to be healthy, and was the best F.B.I agent in the North East.

He was also really cute.

Like really cute.

Unfortunately, Alexander had more pressing things to think about. He was meeting Angelica for lunch, and heaven help the poor soul who wasn’t at full mental acuity with her. Her wit was a dentist’s tool, poking and prodding at everything until she found a weakness. Alexander was meeting her at Schuyler’s, a place her family had owned.

It was supposed to be family owned, but had skipped a generation. Philip Schuyler had gone out into the big, bad, world of politics and had deemed himself too good for coffee beans and common people. Angelica had the same drive and ambition as her father but none of his ice-cold ascendance to superiority. She was the first one to remember her grandmother's little coffeeshop, bought by a pharmaceutical company, its stark, white exterior looking wrong next to the corner bodegas and colorful stores with signs in Spanish, Mandarin, and half dozen other languages, none of them English. Angelica had taken on the project while still in high school, saving up for months, being the first to speak when the little building went on sale, using her father’s name on every legal document. She renovated it to be the perfect mix of classic and not your grandfather’s coffeeshop. Eliza had helped her when she could, but the project was Angelica’s baby through and through.

Business was booming now, holding its own in the niche market of 24 hour coffee shops for the city that never sleeps. Alexander skipped up the front steps of the coffeeshop, pummeling through the door and almost colliding with a man. The man’s backpack fell and he almost fell with it, but at the last minute, he caught on to Alex’s shoulder. Alexander grabbed the man’s arm and steadied him, whilst picking up the fallen backpack from near his feet with his other hand.

“Thank you,” He laughed. God, he had a nice smile. “I promise I don’t usually go falling into stranger’s arms.”

Something about the man was tickling Alex’s tired brain. He looked so familiar, but Alex couldn’t place him.

“You should probably do it more often. It’d make people’s day.”

Something was curling in Alex’s stomach. However he knew this man, this man was dangerous.

He laughed.

Alex liked making him laugh.

“Thanks for catching me.”

Mystery Man said looking expectantly at Alex.

“Oh, the backpack. Right.” Alex handed it over to the man. He smiled again.

Alex really liked making him smile.

“Hope to see you around again.”

Alex nodded dumbly as Mystery Man walked out the door. Angelica winked as Alex walked over.

“Now that was a tall drink of water. Who was he?”

Alex shook his head.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember, but I’ve seen him before. Not in a good situation though. I don’t even know, I can’t figure it out. It’s bugging the crap out of me.”Angelica shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know him, but I do know you and I know that you work best on a full stomach and a good night’s sleep. Evidenced by the bags under your eyes, you haven’t slept for a week, but I can feed you. One sesame seed bagel with strawberry cream cheese and incredibly complicated yet really good coffee coming right up.” Angelica got up to place their order, and as she stood in line, it hit Alex. “ANGELICA! I GOT IT!” he yelled, shooting to his feet like an energetic five year old getting cake at a birthday party.

Silence fell. Every eye in the place turned, and Alex realized he had just screamed at the top of his lungs in possibly the most crowded cafe in Brooklyn. He shrugged sheepishly, sliding down into his seat as Angelica stalked over, bagel and coffee in hand.

“Alexander, please shut up.” Angelica sighed, setting the food down.

“I would, but I just figured out where I know him from! He’s the fed assigned to my,” Alex looked around suspiciously, as if the cops would spring up any minute and whispered so only she could hear him “project.”

“Alexander, you can say the word project. It’s not a nuclear code.” Alex whined. “But Angelica, what if someone knows?”

Angelica sighed. “Alexander Hamilton, you are possibly the most aggravating human being on the face of the Earth. No one knows about your ‘project’. Now I know you didn’t sleep last night because you were researching. At least tell me you found out hottie’s name.”

Alex sighed, looking to all the world as if he was coming down from a sugar high. “His name’s John Laurens. He’s Henry Laurens’ son, you know, the Republican who hates gays and foreigners, but he rebelled a ton. Came out as gay at the Republican Convention. Now he’s got an apartment in the Bronx, likes turtles and the Museum of Modern art, and drinks too much coffee to be healthy. Actually, this place right here is one of his favorite haunts.”

“So,” Angelica snorted, composed her features back into her politician’s daughter’s mask “He’s what you would have become, if you were born to Republicans. No wonder you were basically drooling over him. And eat your bagel, it’s getting cold.”

“For your information,” Alex said, taking a ginormous bite out of his bagel, “That is not the only reason I was ‘“drooling over him’”, as you so kindly put it. It was also because he’s got the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen. And he could probably bench press me and that greyhound-looking beast you call a dog without breaking a sweat.”

Angelica gasped dramatically, one hand splayed across her chest. “Well I never! Are you trying to insinuate that Rosie is any less of a dog because she does not conform to your patriarchal, westernized beauty standards? I never would have thought of it from you, Mr. Hamilton.”

“That’s not a dog, Angelica,” Alex said, furiously chewing ,”That’s a monster.”

“Hey, just because she once tried to bite you doesn’t mean she’s a monster. Maybe she just doesn’t like you. It’s not an uncommon sentiment.” Alex rolled his eyes before checking his watch.

“Shit!” He said, jumping out of his seat. “I’ve got a meeting with the SBA in ten minutes! Fuck it all, I’m gonna be late.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for, an invitation? Go!” This last part was said with a forceful shove, sending Alex stumbling half-stumbling and half-sprinting towards the exit, tugging his coat on. “Bye, Ang! Do this again some-” Alex’s final words were cut off as the door slammed behind him.


	3. A Surrender or a Revolt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feelings. Lots of feelings.

El Leon would strike again.  
Alex was putting the finishing touches on a new master plan. This time it was a boy, not yet six, and his cousin. He was staying with the family after his own mother had disappeared. No one knew where, and honestly, Alex didn’t have time to care right now. He was scrambling. The family would be leaving the next day, and like an idiot (stupid, stupid, stupid) he hadn’t double-checked. He hadn’t accounted for the inevitability of long-lost aunts and guilt-tripping, and now his family would be moving to fucking Schenectady with those children doing god knows what to them. And he can’t and the boy had such big dark eyes and there’s no air in this room why is there no air breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe-  
“Alex, look at me. Come on, one breath in, one out. In, out, in, out. Good, good, come on, keep breathing.” Burr’s face peered down as Alex came back to himself.  
“Burr, Burr, I was trying to get them out and I couldn't get them out Burr. I can't stop messing up and he looked like Tomas, he looked just like Tomas. Burr, I can't do this.”  
Burr stopped and pulled away. “Alex, listen. You're being hysterical. How fast can you change the date of your plan? Any favors you can pull in? You can get those kids out in time, just use that goddamn obnoxious brain of yours and think it through. And for the love of god Alexander, eat some lunch.  
“I did eat, actually, with Ang. You can ask her about it. I swear I did. I had a sesame bagel with strawberry cream cheese. They toasted it and everything.”  
Burr shook his head. “Alright, you’ve eaten. I can get my secretary to try and delay their train tickets, or we could go up there sometime. How were you planning on getting the kids out?”  
“My usual. Case the area, paint the lion, sneak in, grab the kids, leave. Jesus, do I even have spray paint left. Stupid, stupid.”  
“Alex. Look at me. I’ll help you get up to Schenectady. I’ve got a favor I can pull in from a couple Reps, and I will get you a car. Ang has a cousin up there somewhere that you can stay with. Tell’em it’s a business trip, something about checking out local voter demographics and promoting the upcoming election. If you leave tomorrow morning, you will have enough time to get those kids back before anyone catches on. I’ll slow down the Feds, have Theodosia play the air-headed housewife with a robbery. Go home. Get some sleep. Everything will work out.”  
Burr turned around to leave.  
“Burr?”  
His voice, so self-assured, so indestructible, was broken.  
“Can you stay here? Can I talk to you?”  
What else could Aaron do but sit down in that filthy, tiny apartment in the middle of the Bronx and listen?  
It was calming for them to be like this. Alex able to do what he was best at, able to process everything out loud, let his mouth and his brain run away. And Aaron, able to sink into his own head, taking in the stories and the anger and being at peace.  
So Alex talked.  
“When I was ten, I was on the island. You’ve never been to the Caribbean, have you? Too full of scary poor people?”  
Here Aaron chuckled, because Alex knew about his less than Rockefeller start in life.  
“When you’re a kid, the island is paradise. It’s sticky sweat from being in the sun all day and ocean salt stinging your eyes. It’s finding the highest cliff to jump off of, endless summer days, white sand in the sheets at nights, an unpleasant but lovely reminder of the world outside your bedroom. I had a group of friends, and I had Tomas.”  
“He was a boy like no one else was. He was gorgeous, introspective, a daredevil. He was both the whirling wind and the eye of a hurricane. And I loved him. I loved him as a child loves a child, and as an angel loves and angel, because what else are children who have only known sun but angels?”  
“The waters around the island have pirates, you know. Not Treasure Island, swashbuckling, made-for-children pirates, but real pirates. Pirates that are bloodthirsty, ruthless, and have no regard for the life of a child who has only known the island sun. They swooped in, one long summer afternoon. Tomas was at home that day, and I was out, being a child.”  
“I remember the wailing more than anything else. Once pirates have claimed something, it is theirs, to do their wicked way with. And they wanted Tomas, but he had a mother who would fight to the death for him and a sister who had just started to understand the concept of death and the concept of forever. And his mother loved him, so she fought.”  
“The pirates sliced her throat. His sister was the wailing voice I heard, but she knew better, even as young as she was, than to fight. So...” And here, for the first time in the wretched story, Alex’s voice cracked, “So, they took him. He was eleven years old, I was eleven years, we loved each other as only children and angels could, and I never saw him again, and I’ve never stopped thinking about him.”  
“And that’s why you do this?” Burr asked. “You try to atone.”  
Alex chuckled through the tears currently falling down his face. “That and my depressing as hell backstory that we won’t get into now. Burr?”  
“Mmm?” Aaron replied.  
“I know that you’re married and I’m not suggesting anything sexual and I know how much you love Theo and I don’t want to infringe on anything I shouldn’t-”  
“Alex. Spit it out.”  
“Will you sleep next to me? I’m-i’m scared.” Alex looked down at his hands.  
Burr sighed. “Of course. Do you have any pajamas that would fit me? It’s not exactly comfortable to sleep in a three piece suit.”  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Two men in a bed because one of them had nightmares.  
No, that’s not right.  
Two men, sharing comfort in a bed because they’ve lived through their nightmares.


End file.
